


Burn Down the City Just to Show You the Lights

by ambitiousbutrubbish



Series: I Mean Joy [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 08:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5409611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambitiousbutrubbish/pseuds/ambitiousbutrubbish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While travelling to the villa to meet with Bull, Dorian gets ambushed and captured by Venatori. </p><p>(aka Trespasser epilogue)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn Down the City Just to Show You the Lights

**Author's Note:**

> Dorian gets his necromancy on. Dudes get their heads smashed in.

Dorian has thought about thanking whoever it was that had started the rumour that he and Krem are lovers. He’d put money on it being an attempt to ruin him - and his and Mae’s fledging political party - but all that had resulted from it was a convenient excuse for when he and Krem go off alone together. So it’s not an assumption that either of them particularly attempt to discourage. Even if it is patently ridiculous. 

It had taken Krem a little over two days to catch up with him after leaving Skyhold. He probably wouldn’t have managed it at all, if not for Mae’s retainer being held up. But as it was, Dorian had had to spend an unplanned night in a tavern, and Krem had come clattering into town the morning, half asleep on his horse. Dorian had tried to sneak away without his being seen, but it was a small town, and he had been frankly unmissable. The disadvantages of being impeccably dressed in Fereldan. Then after they had met up, it seemed both ungrateful and pointless to send Krem back to Skyhold.

Dorian hadn’t wanted anyone to come back to Tevinter with him, truthfully. It was more than dangerous. He may have some measure of social standing to protect himself, but it was flimsy at best; an obstacle to work around. It certainly wasn’t a bubble with which he could protect other people. And of all the options available to him from the people he had left behind at Skyhold, Tevinter was more dangerous for Krem then for almost any of the rest of them. Most of the men Krem had served with were likely dead, but the Imperial Army has a long memory for deserters, particularly ones who had run as a result of Krem’s fairly unique circumstances. The minute Krem was recognised he would be killed, and this time there would be no Qunari to rescue him.

Dorian had briefly thought about stunning him and riding off. Krem was almost falling from the saddle anyway, he could make it look natural. But he knew Krem, and he knew he would follow him to Tevinter anyway, alone, and wind up arrested - or worse - trying to cross the border. After all, _he_ didn’t have any birthright to identify himself, and his Tevene was just unpracticed enough that an overzealous border guard might just consider it his second language, rather than his mother tongue. And Dorian couldn’t do that to Bull’s best friend, his lieutenant. He couldn’t risk it for his own friend.

But he’s glad he never followed through. Krem has proven to be an extemporary bodyguard, and his presence has been an immeasurable help in improving the legitimacy of the _Lucerni_ among the _soporati_. More than that, he is a good friend - a good confidant - who, if he’s impressed with the progress Dorian and Mae have been making, manages to keep it hidden. Which only makes Dorian push harder. Before the rumours that the two of them were lovers began to circulate, the general consensus was that Krem was Dorian’s illegitimate brother. As a kid, Dorian had never wanted siblings that he would have had to share with. Once he was old enough to see the darkness that boiled behind the expectation of family legacy, Dorian hoped his parents would never have another child that would be subjected to their manipulations. With his past, comparing someone to family would not seem an overly flattering remark, so when he had heard the rumours, Dorian had almost been offended on Krem’s behalf. But he has seen other families since leaving Tevinter for the first time, and he would be glad to call Krem a brother. Albeit never while the other could hear.

The biggest advantage of the other Magisters assuming Krem and Dorian are sleeping together is that when the two of them leave for the villa Dorian owns in in a small, basically nameless border town, no one questions them too closely. Which means that no one knows about Bull.

But thanking whoever started the rumour is probably a little too on-the-nose.

It also means that when they travel to the villa, they do so alone. 

Regrettably so, it turns out. 

Dorian wishes they had someone else with them now.

\--------------------

The rustling in the bushes on the side of the path alerts the two of them to the ambushers, but by then they are already too far into the trap. In the distance, five figures step out from the tree cover to stand in their way. Dorian and Krem pull up their horses immediately. 

“We can take them.” Krem murmurs under his breath, and Dorian would dearly love to agree. Five attackers would be little work, now that they have lost the element of surprise. Neither he nor Krem are unarmed. He’s about to say so, and reaches out with necromancy to call the surrounding corpses to their aid. And his words freeze in his throat. Necromancy binds the dead to your will, but it can also sense the living souls rejecting it, and there are far more than the five ahead hiding in the forest surrounding them. 

Instead, he shakes his head, slips the necklace holding his sending crystals over his head and the dragon’s tooth ring from his finger and stuffs them both into one of Krem’s saddlebags. “There’s too many. I’m a valuable prisoner. Take these, and go get help. I request a singularly daring rescue.”

He can see the indignant outrage clear on Krem’s face. “I’m not leaving you alone. They’ll kill you.”

“They won’t. Not right away. Magister, remember. They can’t get any ransom if I’m dead. But they will undoubtedly kill you.” Only the last part of that statement is unquestionably true, Dorian knows. Whoever is ahead and around them might simply kill Dorian before they realise who he is. Or they may not be robbers or bandits or people who just happened to stumble upon him and Krem. They might have followed them, in which case there is a high likelihood that they’re political opponents. Then they may keep Dorian alive for a short amount of time to make an example of him. Or they could just kill him, and remove Dorian from the Magisterium in one swift stroke. Either way, Dorian schools his face into something confident, so Krem can’t see his doubt. No use them both being killed. Someone has to bring the story back to Minrathos, and any story from him, everyone would just assume that he himself had been the one to kill Krem.

But Krem has a stubborn look on his face, and even if he doesn’t seem worried that Dorian is lying about his chances of survival, he isn’t backing down. “My job is to protect you! What does a mercenary have except his professional reputation?”

And he grins at him, and Dorian actually feels a little bad about the way he has already started channelling magic into his hand, warming it enough to sting. He looks at Krem, looks at Krem’s horse and apologises to them both before he brings his hand down, sharp and hot, onto the horse’s rump. 

The horse screams and races past him, Krem clinging desperately to the reigns, and leaves nothing but the smell of singed hair where they both had been. 

And Dorian is alone, surrounded by ambushers.

He reaches out with his magic again, calling for the dead to come to his aid. At the very least, he can leave behind some wreckage that “help” can hopefully use to search for clues.

\--------------------

Krem manages to get one quick look behind him before his horse plunges into the trees and the scene disappears from his view: Dorian, standing defiantly alone, the deep purple magic that means necromancy seeping out of him.

Back at Skyhold, Varric had nicknamed Dorian Sparkler; a flashy, bright flame. Even the Chief talks about Dorian like he’s fire - light and beauty and danger. It’s all a lie. They do it, Krem knows, because it’s more palatable than the truth. Less frightening than the thick, sticky magic that seems to almost ooze from Dorian’s skin, dripping down in heavy clumps - like the last of a man’s lifeblood leaving his body - from his fingertips and seeping into the earth; seeking. 

The truth? 

Dorian is Death.

And then the scene is blocked by the trees, and Krem turns to see where his horse is taking him in her mad rush. Ahead, a hand, twisted and skeletal, reaches out of the foliage and claws at the soil, presumably to pull the rest of its body out from the earth and lumber towards Dorian.

Krem’s horse screams again at the disturbance ahead and veers off to the side without slowing her pace. 

He’s far from Dorian, by the time his horse stops. Far enough that going back would be a waste of valuable time, time he could be using to gather help. Focus on the task at hand. It’s how he’s made it this far.

Instead of turning back, Krem swings his horse in the direction of the villa. No one better to rescue Dorian than the person he was going to see. Besides, the Chief would never forgive him for leaving him out of it.

\--------------------

Bull never had much of an opinion of baths growing up, nor for the majority of his adult life. They were a way to get clean. On Seheron they had been considered a necessary but pointless exercise. No matter how long you soaked, or how hard you scrubbed, nothing could make you feel clean there. After he came South they were a promised luxury, a warm relief from the cold of the snow and the ache of strained muscles. But they also required fetching one’s own water and heating it over a fire, a process that could take hours for someone Bull’s size, and so too often baths amounted to quick dips in freezing water to clean off the grime of the day. It hadn’t helped that Southern tubs were made for humans or elves or dwarves, but never Qunari, and Bull often came out in more pain than he went in with.

And then he had met Dorian, who’s opinions on bathing deserve a capital “O”. He spoke lovingly of the bath houses in Tevinter that filled the room with steam, of the private bath he had had in his father’s house and the perfumes that he had used there, and despite never particularly enjoying the smell of _human_ , Bull had desperately wanted to breath in the scents Dorian was describing off his skin.

The bath Dorian has acquired for the villa is clearly inspired by his reminiscing, with the design modified with the size of a Qunari in mind. Complicated dwarven pipe-work takes water from outside without anyone having to haul it themselves, and the runes carved into the pipes help to heat the water to optimum temperature. The tub is long enough that Bull can stretch out his legs to their limits without touching the other end, and deep enough that he can easily submerge himself up to his chin if he so desires. He often does.

Needless to say, that since taking up with Dorian, Bull too has Opinions on baths.

He had arrived at the villa hours before he was supposed to meet Dorian there, so after bathing Bull had shuffled of to _their_ bedroom to doze until Dorian arrives. He still has troubles fully relaxing into sleep without Dorian beside him or around him, but being in _their_ bed is the next best thing. 

It’s not good enough to stop him from waking the second he hears hooves thumping down the path.

Bull quickly throws on some pants, and hurries outside to greet Dorian and Krem. But only one horse is galloping towards the villa, sweat-soaked and wild-eyed. On her back, Krem’s expression is as wild, his face as slick with sweat as her flanks, and his expression is furious and scared and determined. Bull doesn’t need his Ben-Hassrath training to know that something is wrong.

“Where’s Dorian?” He growls, as Krem throws himself from the saddle and dashes towards a fresh horse. One of the ones Bull never understood why Dorian kept until now.

“We were ambushed.” Krem gasps out, exhaustion clear in his voice even as he straps his maul and a bag to his new mount. “Dorian sent me to get help, and now that I’ve passed that message on to you I’m going back for him.”

Physically, Bull is uninjured, but he immediately feels something akin to Reaver rage overcome him at Krem’s words, a red haze that falls down over his eyes and colours his world as fury and targets. He reaches out and grabs the reigns of Krem’s horse, just as Krem is wheeling her around. “I’m going after Dorian. You go and gather any help you can.” He orders.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Krem growls back, and Bull would be proud of the authority Krem has found in himself in Tevinter if he could think past the urge to destroy. “You don’t even know where he was taken. Dorian gave me his sending crystals. I’m going back and I’ll contact you to give you directions.”

Intellectually, Bull knows that Krem is making sense. He doesn’t know where they were. He could head off in the direction Krem came from, but the risk is that he would just wander the forest, lost, while Dorian is taken further and further away. But the knowledge doesn’t loosen his grip on Krem’s reigns. It doesn’t calm the rage. It doesn’t stop the rumble like thunder in his chest that forces itself past his lips. It doesn’t mean that he really _hears_ was Krem is saying. 

“Chief.” Krem says, trying for soothing, and when Bull doesn’t reply, he tries again. “Chief!” Nothing. “BULL!” 

Bull actually startles at the shout, and looks at Krem as if he’s seeing him for the first time since he told him about Dorian. Then he nods and drops the reigns. “You go back for Dorian, I’ll go and get the others.” He confirms. Krem nods back and spurs his horse into the trees.

Bull didn’t bring his horse to the villa, opting instead for a leisurely walk from the nearby town. Luckily, Qunari are excellent runners, even ones with knee braces. He barely even notices the strain in his chest and legs by the time that he reaches the closest town, the Reaver rage dulling the pain, dulling anything but the need to _fight_. He had left most of the Chargers back in Orlais with Lace Harding, but Skinner, Dalish, Grim, Rocky and Stitches are all sitting in the tavern when he barges in, breaking the door off its top hinge. The barkeep makes a protesting noise and Bull _roars_ at him. The Chargers are on their feet immediately, and saddle their horses without any questions. 

\--------------------

Krem is pacing by the time Bull catches up with him, casting glances up the path as if he dearly wishes that he could forgo waiting for help and race after Dorian alone. But Krem has always had a leveller head in a fight, with no Reaver training to cloud his judgement. It’s what made him such a good lieutenant.

“They’re Venatori!” He calls out, the second Bull is in shouting distance. “We haven’t heard from them since we defeated Corypheus. I had hoped they’d given up after we killed him.”

Bull makes it to Krem’s side as fast as he can with his horse having to weave through the trees with a large Qunari on his back. “They’re an ideology. They don’t break up just because you kill their leader.” He replies, distractedly, looking passed Krem and along the path. “I know you ‘Vints have some saying about snakes and heads, but that’s just simplistic nonsense.”

Krem grunts in disappointed agreement, and looks set to say something when he’s interrupted by the rest of the Chargers riding out of the trees to them, and Dalish’s little gasp.

The sound pulls Bull’s mind back in from calculations and worries and murder, and he looks clearly around the surrounding area for the first time. It’s a gruesome sight.The bodies lying scattered around were not killed by blade.

There’s scorch-marks on the ground where Dorian must have called lightning on his attackers, but far more disturbing are the Venatori who were killed by a repeated, unrelenting use of brute force. One man is sitting slumped against a tree with his head mostly a smear on the bark behind him and a blood stain down his front. Another is staring lifeless at the sky, one leg and both his arms removed by something without the neatness and efficiency of a sword. There are three that were lucky enough to be felled with quick blows to the head, and two drenched in so much blood that it could not possibly have all belonged to them. Off to the side of the path, just passed the tree-line, Bull can see a pile of bones, some stained red, and an eerie, sickly purple glow radiating from their marrow. He’s certain that he does not want to see what’s under that pile. One of the skulls grins at him, and for a moment, the glow seems to look at him from the empty sockets.

But Dalish has never been given to shock when faced with violence, so for her to do so now is odd. Bull’s confusion is eased, however, when she speaks. “There’s so much _power_ here” she says, hushed, as if she does not want to disturb the lingering magic she feels. A little frightened, a little in awe. There’s a break where she breaths deeply, and the Chargers and Bull around her fall silent, letting her concentrate. And then she spins her horse sharply and rides off determinedly into the trees. “They went this way.” Bull hurries after her, and he hears the scrabbling behind him as the Chargers manoeuvre their horses into a straight line and follow.

Eventually Dalish beings to slow, and then stops when she reaches the end of the path left by the residual magic, but by then the trail left by the Venatori ambushers is clear. Foolishly, it appears they assumed no one would follow them. Tree branches have been pushed aside and even removed to make room for them, and their footprints are clear in the dirt. So they push on.

\--------------------

The defences of the Venatori camp are frankly laughable. Bull would almost be offended on Dorian’s behalf, if he wasn’t so worried. Dorian certainly would be offended. So Bull resolves to embellish, when he’s telling this story later. There are three guards, standing an equal distance apart around 15 tents. And one of those tents contains Dorian.

Undoubtedly the guards have magic, but foolishly they appear to assume that this magic will be enough to protect them from any force that might come to take Dorian back. And perhaps it would, were that force not the Chargers come to rescue someone they care about. Bull wouldn’t bet against Krem taking all three alone at this point. He’s flexing his fingers around his maul in a way that suggests he’s mentally restraining himself from simply rushing the Venatori.

The Chargers silently fan out around the encampment. Bull counts to ten in his head, and strains his ears to hear a muffled yelp ahead and slightly to his left and knows it’s Grim slitting the throat of the nearest defender. He counts to ten again, and then steps into the camp, just as Dalish throws a quick ice spell over the fire that is providing the only source of light in the night, which melts in the air and puts out the flames, throwing the area into a darkness. There’s few seconds of silence, and then some noises of confusion as the Venatori venture out of their tents, lit by personal magical lights. But by then, it’s already too late for them. The Chargers have formed their shield wall. All that has to happen is for one of the Venatori to be stupid enough to try to rush them. The Chargers have more than enough practice dealing with Venatori. Especially after the Storm Coast, where everything could have changed.

Bull’s rage, when he allows it to overcome him, is all-consuming. It narrows down his world to a point, gives him a single-minded focus. There is only him and his foe in the world, and the reason for his existence is to reduce the population to one by separating his opponent from their limbs. But that is not what he is here for, and he seizes what is left of his conscious mind and bends it to focus on finding Dorian.

He can hear the shouts from behind him, and the stench of blood in the air sings in his veins, demands that he turn and fight, but he keeps the battle to his back, confident that the Chargers will prove enough of a distraction that no one will attack him from behind. His senses are sharper like this, which is why he hears the mage beginning to cast so clearly and is able to pinpoint where he is standing so accurately. Bull knows that if he engages, he will not be able to deny the bloodlust, so instead he grasps the handle of his axe and _throws_ it at his would-be attacker. The thud and crash it makes when it connects with the Venatori and sends him careening into a tent is loud enough that he doesn’t need his enhanced hearing for it to be audible, even above the clash of staffs on shields and cries behind him, as the Chargers move in the formation he and Cullen drilled into them to fight mages. 

Bull figures that the man who had not rushed out to be the front-line of defence must instead be the last line, and so Dorian can not be far away. His hands shake with the effort of not turning and running back to fight. They are his only weapon now, but they have served him well in the past. Human limbs are removed so easily with enough application of force, and Bull would dearly love to prove to the Venatori that the corpses that had attacked them when they had taken Dorian were too human (or ex-human, as it were) to do the harm Bull wishes upon them. It would be so easy. All he needs to do is hold their head between his hands and pull. Or push them together. All he needs to do...

The tent he was attempting to open rips at the seams, the contents exposed to the lights that flicker out as the men creating them are killed. But even by that dwindling glow, Bull can see that Dorian does not look well. There’s a split in his lip, and a number of other small cuts and scrapes on his left cheek that must have been caused by a staff connecting with the side of his face. They have all bled at some point. His eye is swollen shut, and above it is a deep gash that no one has attempted to cover. His hair is matted with a colour darker than sweat. His face is oddly pale - worryingly bloodless, but amplified by the dying light. He didn’t move when Bull ripped open the tent, and he remains still as Bull tears the canvas completely open to get to him.

But he is breathing. Shallowly, but it’s there. And the relief is palpable, like a war hammer to the chest.

Bull barrels over everything remaining in the tent and drops to Dorian’s side. Dorian’s eyes remain shut. Behind him, Bull can hear the sounds of the Charger’s fight quieting, but above that is his own ragged breathing, exhaustion of every kind threatening to overcome him. Dorian’s face seems to swim and blur and for a moment Bull fears that he is on the verge of collapsing from the emotional and physical toll of the day, before he realises that he is crying, looking down at Dorian’s swollen, bleeding and unmoving face.

He rests his hand on Dorian’s unmarred cheek, drags his thumb across his jawline. “Please, _kadan_. Please.” He pleads. “Open your eyes.” Dorian doesn’t. The Chargers let out a cheer as their last attacker falls, and the night is only lit by the single ball of magical energy concentrated at the end of Dalish’s “bow”, but Bull can see the stillness of Dorian’s face as clear as day, his whole world focused on eyes that remain shut, even as his chest moves up and down in short bursts. The Chargers start to call out looking for the two of them, but Bull can’t quite manage a sound to direct them to him, even knowing how valuable Stitches’ presence would be. It’s not a big camp. It won’t take them long to find them.

Bull is considering pressing his finger to the gash on Dorian’s head in the hope that the pain will wake him, when Dorian’s eyes flutter open. He blinks up slowly at Bull for a few seconds, and then launches himself away with a well-placed kick to the meat of Bull’s thigh and a mad scramble to get as far away as he possibly can. Bull has seen this kind of reaction before. Someone wakes up from unconsciousness after being knocked out in a battle and assumes their fight is still raging. It’s always dangerous to approach someone in this state, running half on delirium and half on adrenaline. They’re liable to hurt someone, either the person trying to help, or themselves with their mind not noticing that their body is in no condition to move in the way that they are. And Dorian is doubly dangerous, with magic just at the reach of his fingertips and waiting to be called into being. 

But Bull reaches for him anyway, scoops him up in his arms and pulls him into a tight hug. “It’s okay, big guy.” He says, lowly. “It’s okay. It’s only me. I’ve got you. The Venatori are dead. We came to rescue you.” He rocks a little as he says it, keeps his grip tight even as Dorian tries to twist and turn his way out of his arms. Thankfully, he does not appear to have enough mana left for magic at the moment, so he settles for getting in a sharp jab at Bull’s kidney with his elbow. Bull winces, but doesn’t let go, doesn’t stop speaking to Dorian in as calm a voice as he can manage. 

Eventually, Dorian stills in his arms. Bull relaxes his grip and looks down at him, worried that Dorian has passed out again from the exertion of moving so much and so quickly after being unconscious. But Dorian’s eyes are open and staring up at him a little woozily. “Bull?” he asks, voice a little horse, and Bull can only nod at him in return. Dorian reaches up slowly and shakily and lays his hand softly on Bull’s cheek and Bull _sobs_. Only once, but loud enough that the Chargers hear it and come running over where Bull is kneeling with Dorian in his arms.  
“Is he–?” Rocky asks.

“Were we too late?” is Skinner

“He’s alive.” Bull is quick to reassure them. “Alive and awake but he’s going to need some healing.”

Dalish and Stitches both let out whoops at the news, but the sound is cut off as Krem pushes the two of them aside to march up to Bull and Dorian. The look on his face is equal parts thankful, relieved and _pissed_ , so he looks like he’s about to burst into tears and is monumentally angry about it, and he doesn’t seem to see Bull at all, talks _through_ him to Dorian. “Don’t you _ever_ do that again!” He orders, and there’s a note of hysteria creeping in there. “What good am I as a bodyguard if you aren’t going to let me do my job? Maybe I should just quit! At least then I won’t spend all my time worrying that you’re going to do something stupid and get yourself killed!” And before Dorian can manage a defence, Krem turns and leaves as dramatically as he had arrived.

Silence falls over them, and then Skinner starts cackling to herself. The rest of the Chargers join in, and suddenly Bull is cradling Dorian’s bruised and battered body surrounded by laughter. Bull looks down to check how Dorian is handling everything, and sees that mostly, Dorian just looks confused. And suddenly Bull can’t help but join in the laughter; from relief, from exhaustion, from all the fear and rage of the last few hours falling away and leaving nothing in its place but the joy of having Dorian back with him again. 

He must move slightly with the laughter, because Dorian winces and Bull calms himself. He looks down at Dorian and smiles instead, and Dorian smiles softly back up at him. The Chargers’ laughter dissolves into coughing, and they all mutter excuses about Krem and looting and being anywhere but looking at the two of them when they’re about to get mushy. Bull really does love his boys.

“You came for me.” Dorian says, and his voice is openly emotional in a way he would never allow were he in full command of himself. “That was foolish.”

Bull knows what Dorian is thinking, that he never wants Bull risking his safety or his freedom for him. But Bull can’t imagine death being worse than the idea of Dorian, hurt and alone and captured, and not being the one to rescue him. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat, kadan.” He says, and Dorian looks touched and floored and angry and exhausted. So mostly, he looks adorable. “Thank you for getting Krem away safely.”

“Of course.” Dorian replies. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to Krem. You know that.”

Bull nods. “You really are a very sweet guy.” He says and Dorian huffs indignantly but  
doesn’t try to get away. It’s been a long time since he squirmed with embarrassment at every compliment that wasn’t about his looks or magical skill. “Come on.” He says, and stands, lifting Dorian up with him. “I’ll take you back to the villa and Stitches can get a look at you.”

“Mae–” Dorian starts, and Bull shakes his head.

“Krem has probably already gone off to get word to her, and if he hasn’t I’ll ask him to when I see him.”

Dorian sighs a contented sigh, and lets his eyes drift shut. But Bull can see the way his eyes move under their lids, the little twitches that Dorian’s hands make and hear the rasp in his breathing that tell’s Bull Dorian is only sleeping, not unconscious again.

And he knows that Mae will soon send someone to collect Dorian, knows that Dorian has to go back to Minrathos and the Magisterium, if for no other reason than to stir up more support for his cause with what has been done to him. But not right now. And with Dorian asleep in his arms, held tight and close to his chest, Bull allows himself a moment to forget that he ever has to let go of him again.


End file.
